


Fluid

by gardnerhill



Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BDSM, Episode Related, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:16:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He <span class="u">did</span> say they were hers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fluid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AfroGeekGoddess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfroGeekGoddess/gifts).



Only a blindfold this time, not the zipper-mask, but this was the black leather blindfold with the fine chain behind that secured him to the third metal rung of the ladder. The cuffs – one set for each wrist – kept his arms apart at either side of the ladder, just above the second rung. The air in the apartment was cool and slightly muggy on his bare skin. 

And holding him down even more beautifully and more perfectly than his apparati, better than the blindfold and the cuffs and the ladder and his kneeling half-naked supplication, was her voice. Cool amused authority above him like the swish of a crop in an expert's hands, restraint like a Berkley Bench. How he ached for the chance to hear her give orders in the operating theatre… 

Her voice pressed down upon his head, level and cool and professional. 

"How much time has passed?"

"Precisely two hours, ma'am," he responded immediately. 

"What may I do with you every two hours?"

"That which you desire, ma'am."

"Yes. It's good that you remember." 

A dig; he had been getting stroppy with her lately. If only she wouldn't continue to bring up that damned – 

"Still your head. Stop moving." Snapped words like the crack of a whip, the strike of a lash.

His body had been following his restless mind. He froze once again, forcing his mind into still paths to await his next order. "Yes, ma'am." 

Her voice was as cold as an ice-cube trailed down the underside of his cock. "Move again without my permission, and I know exactly how to punish you."

She did – oh god she did. No mere flogging, no ice-bite of clamps, no molten agony of candle-wax – she would walk out of the apartment and go for a jog or have a coffee at the corner bodega for an hour, and leave him in the dark of his blindfolded eyes and viciously-running brain, trussed like a goose and untouched by the spice of pain, alone, without even her beautiful level commanding voice to hold him. No Roman rack for this dungeon-keeper; for her the precise horror of the oubliette. 

Amazing how very much brain power is needed to hold absofuckinglutely still – how many minor movements of the body need to be intercepted before they start, counter-move to create that non-movement. It was agonizing, taxing, overwhelming. It was exactly what he needed. 

"Your mouth."

So cool, so clinical. So erotic. He poised on the knife-tip of desire, awaiting her command.

"Open. Wide."

A command.

Glorying in obedience, he dropped his jaw.

And in it went – scraping, harsh, raking his tongue and inner cheeks before departing. The soft clicking of the object being returned to its plastic sheath. 

He remained utterly still in the silence that followed.

"You pass." The voice was as cool as ever, but with just a touch of amusement. 

Joy filled his stock-still form. He had pleased her once again. 

"You may ask me a question."

She knew, and had opened the window. Ruthlessly he suppressed any expression of delight that would lead to an undesired result. "Permission to remain as I am until next time, ma'am."

Very well. Until two hours. I shall be writing my notes in the main room, but I will keep my eyes upon you. If you have moved at all, or changed your posture or position, I unlock."

The click of her boots on the wooden floor, receding. 

Stock-still for two hours – not so much as a shiver – focused only on not-moving, for the next 7200 seconds, lest he displease that beautiful voice.

Best sobriety partner he's ever had.

**Author's Note:**

> Afrogeekgoddess picked up on that particular line in Episode 7, "One Way to Get Off" - Sherlock saying to Joan "My bodily fluids are at your disposal." Seemed impolite not to write something about it...


End file.
